


The Best Gift Ever (Maybe, Probably, Hopefully)

by chatonne-rousse (thefullbeaumonty)



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Accidental Revelations, Adrien Agreste Knows, Adrien is sad for like 30 seconds, Adrien uses his braincells, At least he thinks he does, Birthday Presents, F/M, Gabriel Agreste is an Asshole, Gift Fic, Marinette doesn't like it when Chloe touches Adrien against his will, Marinette says a little too much, Marinette says so herself, Maybe - Freeform, One Shot, Platonic Marichat - Freeform, Sort Of, inadvertent admissions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:48:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21893152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefullbeaumonty/pseuds/chatonne-rousse
Summary: When Chat Noir pays a visit to his friend Marinette on the night before his birthday, he finds her working on a knitting project using some very familiar yarn.  In the ensuing discussion, he learns two secrets and gets close to figuring out another.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 54
Kudos: 688





	The Best Gift Ever (Maybe, Probably, Hopefully)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SailorChibi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorChibi/gifts).



> This is a birthday gift for my amazingly talented, super awesome friend SailorChibi. 
> 
> We're both reveal trash and Adrienette trash, and I provided neither in this piece. Oops! Please enjoy platonic Marichat and some inadvertent admissions/revelations.
> 
> I hope it brings you a smile, my dear. I'm _so_ glad we're friends!

Knit two, purl two. Knit two, purl two. Knit two...

It’s a late-summer paradox of an evening, warm enough to spend time outside but cool enough to warrant a blanket, a night when it feels like summer in name only.

Marinette is comfortably curled in her lounge chair, lights twinkling from the canopy above her, as her knitting needles clack a quiet rhythm. Below her in the bedroom, Tikki is propped against the cat pillow on her bed, watching the season finale of The Great British Baking Show.

In the next arrondissement, Chat Noir makes his way across the rooftops, vaulting alleys and baton-coptering over parks bathed in the last copper glow of the evening. He’d leapt from his window twenty minutes prior, limbs jittery with the need to move, sick of the endless solitude of a weekend spent in his bedroom. As dusk approached, the shadows of the window frames had crept across the space like the ever-encroaching bars of his own personal prison and the desire to leave, to run, was overwhelming.  
  
Now, the evening air is a breath of freedom, whipping his unruly hair around his ears.

Just for fun, he lets gravity take over and touches down momentarily on a monument's plinth before pole vaulting to the roof of the school. It's no Tour Eiffel, but it's high and flat and sturdy, and he often stops there for a while before moving on during patrols or when he's out for a run. It's familiar and comfortable, a building filled with the memories of time spent with people he loves. And if Adrien's sweet, kind classmate and friend - who welcomes the occasional chat with Chat Noir and often has pastries - lives next door, well, that's just a bonus, isn't it? He looks toward the bakery and can't help but grin when he sees her. Marinette is a vision _en rose_ , curled in her pink-striped chair, wearing a pink sweater, draped in a pink blanket. He's leaping across the alley before his mind has caught up to his body.

************

She pauses on stitch 31 of 80 when Chat Noir alights on the terrace railing, fairy lights reflecting in his gleaming steel toes before he hops nimbly to the floor.

As a superhero can and should, he sweeps a dramatic bow to herald his arrival. He hasn't returned to his full height yet before he realizes her hand is outstretched toward him, palm out in a clear sign for stop.

"Wait! Give me a moment."

Her hands return to her work, and he watches, rapt, as her fingers deftly cast on careful stitches one by one. Had he looked up, he may have been charmed by her familiar focused expression, her tongue poking from the side of her mouth in concentration - the hallmarks of his dear friend hard at work. Watching her create is mesmerizing, and as always, he's impressed and proud of yet another of the many things Marinette excels at doing, but it's the yarn itself he can't tear his gaze from. It's the bright, soft blue of a mid-morning Spring sky, it's his beloved Lady's eyes, it's the color of contentment and happy memories and love. He would know that shade anywhere, because it perfectly matches the fine cashmere of the greatest gift he can ever remember receiving from his father.

Amidst the memory that bursts against the back of his mind and the swell of emotion that momentarily makes his chest squeeze, he can't help but wonder where she got such a special and expensive yarn and what exactly she's knitting with it.

He schools his expression into his patented cheeky grin when her hands still and she meets his eyes with a smile of her own.

"Forgive my less-than-warm welcome, minou. I wanted to finish this row of stitches before I lost my place." Her eyes follow him as he finally settles cross-legged on the terrace floor beside her chair. "I need to finish this tonight, and I still have to wrap it. If I'm _lucky_ , I'll actually remember to sign my name this year, unlike last year's fiasco."

He doesn't miss the way she says the word "lucky," nor the self-deprecating eye roll that follows. And he should probably dwell a little more on the way the light dims in her eyes, just barely, just enough to notice, but he has to know about the familiar blue yarn settled in a loose ring on her lap.

"What are you making, Princess?" He underscores his perfect kitten eyes by reaching out to bat at one of the tassels hanging from the corner of her blanket.

She levels him with a stern glare, but cracks almost immediately, and they both laugh. His hand still darts back to rest on his knee, just in case.

"It's a gift," she starts slowly. "A hat, for a...friend. It's his birthday tomorrow, and I want to make sure he gets at least one present that makes him happy. I'm sure Nino will do something, but..." 

Her gaze returns to her hands, and she misses the way his eyes widen when he hears Nino's name. Surely she can't be talking about him? About... _Adrien_?

"If anyone deserves to be happy - truly happy - on their birthday, it's him," she continues. "He had the world's worst birthday last year. I found out later that all he wanted was a birthday party, something he'd never had in his entire life! Can you believe it?" Her face scrunches up in a look of disgusted incredulity, which is quite frankly adorable, and his heart swells in his chest at the knowledge that she may very well be talking about him. (And yes, he can definitely believe it.)   
  
"He could ask for any material item in the world, Chat, but he didn't. Just a party." The hairs on the back of his neck stand up when she turns to him, eyes narrowed, and he hears the sudden venom in her voice. "But his father is a complete asshole, and refused! Can you even imagine?" (He can.) "Then his best friend got akumatized over it, because Hawk Moth is _also_ a complete asshole, and to top it off, I watched him get groped and nearly kissed against his will by this...this... _bitch_ in our class!"

Her voice had grown louder and louder as she went on, and her hands are now balled in tight fists in her lap. He's glad she needs a moment to come down from that, because he certainly does, too. It's more than she usually shares with him when he's wearing cat ears, and it's more than he knew she felt about his civilian self. They're friends, of course, but her righteous anger on his behalf is as surprising as it is heartwarming. (And kind of hot, his traitorous mind supplies.)

But he replays her outburst in his mind again, previously unused cogs turning slowly, grinding against the gears in his brain. Chloé had nearly kissed him while they were dancing, yes, but...Marinette wasn't there to see it. He knew it, because he'd stood on the stage and addressed the crowd, desperately searching for a familiar face that wasn't slack with the need to comply with The Bubbler. Moreover, he'd looked anywhere but at Chloé while they danced, watching his classmates shuffle listlessly in odd pairs - why wasn't Mylene with Ivan, or Juleka with Rose, and for that matter, why wasn't Max wearing glasses? Also, he'd freely admit that he'd have chosen gentle, friendly Marinette as his slow-dance partner long before he'd have chosen Chloé and her wandering hands.

Marinette was definitely not at his strange, akuma-orchestrated party. But _Ladybug_ was.

He peers up at her profile and allows himself to imagine it for just a moment, that the twin-tailed, blue-eyed love of his life is sitting beside him now - that Marinette is Ladybug. It's not the first time the thought has crossed his mind, and the same giddy joy bubbles up within him as the last time he considered the possibility.

She's probably shared enough already, and he's probably had enough half-realized revelations for one night. But in just a few hours it will be his birthday, and if you can't be a little bit greedy and selfish on your birthday, when can you? So when she turns to face him again, calmer now, the frisson of possibility that zings down his spine when Ladybug-blue eyes meet his feline green pushes the question from his mouth before his brain can catch up.

"So, what happened last year?"

She looks at him as though he's grown a third set of ears, an expression so Ladybug-boggling-at-a-ridiculous-akuma that he can't believe he never saw it before.

"Chat, I told you. He had a terrible birthday, and his best friend was akumatized. You were there!"

And she's not wrong. He was there, masked and unmasked, but she doesn't know that. "I mean, what happened with last year's gift? You said it was a _cat_ -astrophe." He adds an eyebrow wiggle for panache.

"No, I said it was a fiasco," she reminds him with a huff as she settles back in the chair and rearranges the blanket to cover her feet. She stares again at the project in her lap. "I...made him something. Something special. I worked extra shifts in the bakery and saved my allowance to cover the cost of the material. I tried to give it to him in person, but I just...couldn't. And then Chloé..." She trails off with a look of complete loathing.

He doesn't remember the moment, but he's lived through hundreds of uncomfortable Chloé encounters across his lifetime, and he's seen the way she treats Marinette. It's no wonder Marinette assumed he was a dick the first time they met. He doesn't begrudge her the sentiment toward Chloé, but the disgusted expression is at odds with her delicate features, and he's glad when her eyes soften. He's hanging on every word, thoughts swirling and clashing in the background as he determinedly focuses on what she has to say.

"I never got a chance at school, so I went to his house with the gift, but there was that weird robot eye thing, and his dad's assistant, and," she sighs, "I forgot to sign it." She shakes her head at the memory and looks toward the hatch and the glowing light from her room. "I did get a chance to attach a little note, which somehow got lost, too. To be honest, part of me is glad he didn't see that, since I wrote 'kisses' on it and clearly an akuma birthday party was _not_ the time to confess my feelings. At least I didn't attempt another love poem. Both of those were disastrous." She looks at him with a moue and a shrug that say, "What can you do?" and he swims through the goo that used to be his brain to nod politely (he hopes).

Because the maybe, could-be, half-formed revelation he'd begun to consider a few minutes ago just collided with the weight of her admission, and suddenly he can't breathe. His mind is a film reel from a classic American cartoon, scrolling through a year's worth of interactions from a blossoming friendship. Blushes and stammers, trips and stumbles, and those big, wide, nervous eyes that he always made sure to meet with patient kindness as he waited for her to gather her words.

Had she loved him all this time? How had he missed it?

The swell of delirious hope that rises in his chest with the thought of loving her and being loved in return is tamped down in the next moment when he remembers that he already does love someone. _But what if they're the same person_ , his mind whispers, matching bluebell eyes and shiny raven hair and that fierce determination born from a deep well of kindness and an unerring sense of justice. The whiplash of emotions make his heart race, and it pounds painfully. He doesn't realize his hand has come up to clutch his chest until Marinette's fingers wrap gently around his wrist.

"Chat? Minou? Are you okay?"

He glances up to see her head cocked just to the side, eyes filled with confusion and gentle concern, and she looks for all the world like Ladybug. His claws dig just a little tighter into his magical armor as he gasps out her name. Because suddenly, he has to know what she made for him last year. He only received one birthday gift, Plagg's camembert notwithstanding, and the skein of fine, soft yarn beside her on the chair is telling him the story of a puzzle piece he never knew was missing, a piece that unlocks a picture far broader than he ever realized.

"Marinette," he breathes again, his voice as even as he can make it. "What did you make for your, um...for your friend?"

She doesn't answer right away, even after he implores again with a soft "please."

Finally, she looks down to where her hand is still wrapped around his wrist. "A scarf. I made him a scarf," she says quietly, before her tone turns defensive, as though she's had to argue this point before. "And I made the scarf to make him happy, and he _was_ , so it doesn't matter that he never knew it was from me. Like I said before, his happiness is enough."

The truth surges through him, the disappointment of his father's indifference cutting deep, but her selfless affection sweeps over the gash like the sweetest balm, like miraculous ladybugs and healing light. He can't help but beam at her, and her answering smile is warmth and comfort that he feels to the depths of his suddenly-exhausted soul.

He brings his other hand up to pat hers gently, squeezing once before they both let go.

"I'm sure he'll love it, Princess. If you make it, it's bound to be beautiful."

She ducks her head as a shy blush crosses her cheeks. "Thank you, Minou. I hope so," she says, picking up her knitting needles once more as he stands to leave.

Bent in a bow of farewell, he raises his eyes to hers. "I know so, Marinette." And with his signature salute and an "à bientôt," he's off.

She tucks the blanket in tighter around her legs and contentedly returns to her knitting, more determined than ever to see a joyful grin like her chaton's on Adrien's face tomorrow.

************

Detransforming as his feet hit his bedroom floor, he makes a wordless beeline to the walk-in closet as Plagg phases through the door of his cheese cupboard in search of a snack. There, folded carefully and sitting atop the dresser where he can see it every day, is his beloved blue scarf. He picks it up and runs his fingertips across the fine cashmere, lost in thought. He can guess what happened, can imagine that the same father who isn't even in the country for his fifteenth birthday had never thought to purchase a present for his fourteenth, either. He could wallow in it, but it's not worth it. He can't change his father, no matter how much he wants to, no matter how much he loves him or seeks his affection. It's what drove him from his room earlier - the helpless anger at his father's stifling control, his meticulously planned solitude in the glaring absence of his only parent.

As he walks across his bedroom, scarf in hand, he does allow a smile at the thought that his father has seen him wear the scarf on numerous occasions and has never said a word about it, apparently deeming it an appropriate choice in accessories. In a strange way, his indifference is a ringing endorsement for Marinette's work.

 _Marinette_.

He sighs. He considers.

... _Ladybug_?

Kicking his shoes off and flopping backward on his bed, he clutches the scarf to his chin and stares at the ceiling in giddy glee. She loves him. He is _loved_. Tears catch in his eyelashes, and he uses the scarf to wipe them away quickly, before Plagg notices. If he's on the right track, if his suspicions are correct (and they have to be - he can feel it, he _knows_ it), then he could...they could... Oh, his heart is so full, it could burst! 

He knows he's inadvertently spoiled himself for her birthday gift at school tomorrow, but he can't find it in himself to care. However, whenever, whatever Marinette gives him, his joy will be genuine. After all, she just may have given him the best gift he's ever received, plus a beautiful scarf and a hat to match, too.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a one-shot.
> 
> I'm on Tumblr as [chatonne-rousse](https://chatonne-rousse.tumblr.com/). Come say hi!


End file.
